Author's notes: Okay, here is a multi-parter. (Like youse couldn't see that coming, right?) I will ... narrate the actual trip to Germany in the next chapter; this is the warm-up, as there is some very necessary information contained within. I beg your patience. The next part will up, I hope, in a few days. But give me a week to be on the safe side. As always, reviews and comments are always appreciated.


Chapter 43: Impulse

Luigi leaned back in his swivel chair, munching on left-over Szechwan tofu from the previous night's dinner at his and Daisy's studio. Subsequent to that morning and Miles's discovery of the black and white photograph, he and Mario kept quiet, the latter threatening the hacker to silence, until they could come to a consensus on when to confront Salvatore and Giuseppe about the unknown woman. The impending trip to Germany disturbed all of his family and friends: Yoshi made sure to bring him takeout lunch from their favorite Chinese restaurant on Wednesday and Thursday; Miles insisted on checking in several times per day; Mario 'escorted' him to the studio for dinner and the pennant game on television, during which his idiot brother bet twenty dollars that the St. Louis Cardinals would vanquish the San Francisco Giants; the jubilant Daisy smugly collected the Andrew Jackson from the grumbling plumber's black leather wallet. Since his lioness had to work on Friday, they decided to spend Friday evening at their 'home' before driving to Bensonhurst and Staten Island for the weekend, all the while vowing to avoid any discussion of the Mafia or Lucas.

The master plumber nervously glanced at the finished prototype of the thermostat as well as the AutoCAD blueprints of further testing and implementation. Because their flight to Frankfurt was on Monday, he would have little data to provide the German investors, whom Yoshi warned would be exacting. Moreover, he would also need to show that it was adaptable to European voltage and green energy conventions. Luigi sighed; it was better than nothing, which he, Yoshi, and Miles feared was the maximal limit of Lucas's project. Treating his project as a backup, he made a hard copy of the blueprints and mailed them to himself at Daisy's address, sealed and certified, which would provisionally stand in place of an official patent as well as emailing another to Miles and Yoshi who volunteered to assist with the paperwork.

Cleaning his desk of the bits of wires and circuitry, Luigi felt his iPhone buzz insistently. Ignoring the incoming call and opting to respond later, he continued with arranging the office and submitting the last of the remaining paperwork and tickets. His iPhone rang once more; irritated, he pulled it out of his pocket to see two missed calls and a text marked URGENT – in all capital letters – from Lucas. Rolling his eyes and pressing the green telephone key to return the call, which immediately connected, Luigi barked, "Lucas, if this is about Mario …"

"Weeg, we got a huge problem!" interrupted the Manhattanite in a barrage of anger and possibly fear. "We're not leaving for Germany on Monday. Well, yes, technically, we are, but not from New actually have to leave tomorrow afternoon. Take the day off, grab your shit, and be ready to leave from LaGuardia's private terminal at noonish. Don't worry about your ticket; we'll be flying on my jet and then have the tickets rebooked on Lufthansa. Still first-class, thank the fictitious Christ."

"What?!" yelled Luigi, which caused a few nosy plumbers to turn toward the office window and door. Moving to slam the door for privacy, he growled, "The fuck are you talking about? I can't leave! Mario's birthday party – at my uncle and aunt's place – is this Sunday! And where the fucking-motherfucker are we going this time?!"

"Weeg, I know! I'm not happy about this, either. This morning, my motherfucker of a father called me out of the blue. I don't know just how the flying fuck he knew, but I've – well, we've – been ordered to take on an extra passenger for our two-week trip to Deutschland-Über-Alles. I explained to the Greek asshole that three's a crowd, but no dice. And worse, that extra passenger's refusing to fly to New York to join us. We can't say no."

"Where are we going, Lucas?" the plumber demanded in a low, deliberate tone.

He heard his frenemy sigh dramatically. "The Woodland Critters want to have a blood orgy."

"Denver?!"

"Unfortunately."

"Pete's going?"

"I don't know which Critter is going. All I know is one of them will be joining us. I don't know how they managed to blackmail my father, but they used whatever sordid shit they had to muscle their way onto our trip. We are leaving on Monday evening – from Denver. Thankfully, there is a direct flight to Frankfurt, and we'll be travelling first-class. They are, however, insisting that we leave tomorrow. I chose the latest time – noon – which will allow us to land at around two in the afternoon local time."

"Shit, fuck, goddamnit!" Luigi swore, his words attracting a medium-sized crowd of plumbers and welders in the area around his office.

"Yeah, that sums it up. I, uh, can have a car sent to you. And I'll make sure that we have an extra fattening lunch to compensate for this," offered Lucas in an apologetic voice, which momentarily surprised the irate plumber.

Rubbing his face, he groused, "No, the car's not needed. Mario will probably give me a ride, if only to avoid the interrogation from my family as to why I couldn't be at his birthday party!"

"Don't worry, Weeg; I'll figure out a way to make this up to you. I promise." A moment later, Luigi heard the beep-beep of the call disconnecting. Furiously, he tossed the phone onto his desk and began to pace his office. Did Lucas do this on purpose? And what the hell is Pete planning? Having taken the obligatory five minutes to cool down, he picked up his phone and texted 'SOS' to both Mario and Miles.

Twenty minutes later, an anxious Mario dashed into the plumbing shop and, upon sighting his brother inside the office, shut the door behind them. "You okay? What happened?" Luigi bit his lip, and his brother could tell that he was trying not to scream or cry in rage. "Weegie, goddamnit, answer me! Is it Lucas? What did he do?" he demanded, his voice rising an octave.

"Fratello … I … I leave tomorrow." Responding to Mario's flared eyes and unspoken question, the younger man explained, "Lucas's father received a call from Colorado. We're being rerouted to Denver. Someone – Pete, Gene, Matt, Sam, whomever – will be joining us. Given that Lucas hates them, I don't think he planned this. But somehow, they knew we were going to Germany. They are 'requesting,'" he made finger quotes to match his sarcastic change in tone, "that we fly to Colorado tomorrow afternoon and then, from there, fly to Frankfurt."

The older plumber nodded, though crossing his arms to indicate his building fury. They did not speak for a time, each processing the bad news in his own way. Finally, he snarled, "Get your shit. We're going. Now. File it as a family emergency. You can assign tickets from your company phone and laptop."

Luigi slowly rose from his swivel chair and reached for his backpack, the prototype which he put into a lightweight, yet secure case, laptop, and phones. "Where are we going?" he asked softly.

"Just get your things, fratellino mio," whispered Mario in an abruptly tired voice. "I'll be waiting at your car."


The first stop was to their house, where Mario insisted on switching to his black Honda after Luigi finished packing for his two-week trip to Denver and Frankfurt. About a half-hour into his preparations, Miles secure-texted back that he would bring an overnight bag and "some extras" to 17th Avenue within the hour. While they waited for him to arrive, Mario left a voicemail on Peach's cellphone to have Rospo drive her and Daisy to Bensonhurst, as Luigi would be departing for LaGuardia the following afternoon. Using Miles's secured email, the latter texted his lioness to let her know that Peach and her aide-de-camp, Rospo, would pick her up at the United Nations and bring her to Brooklyn due to "Pete Morello fucking up the original plan."

Shortly before lunchtime, a bright yellow taxi pulled up at Mario and Luigi's A-frame. Miles stepped out of the cab, a small blue backpack and two black messenger bags in hand. As soon as Mario spied the blond engineer, he opened the door and rushed to assist him with his bags. "Jesus, what's all this?" he muttered.

"Anti-Lucas devices," replied Miles cryptically while walking up the front steps. Shutting the door behind them, he began to set up various laptops, cellphones, and what looked like a bluetooth.

Luigi descended the stairs from his room, carrying a small suitcase in his right hand which he set at its foot. "Hey, what's all this?"

Rapidly typing a series of commands, Miles grinned. "As I told Mario, these are some anti-Lucas devices that I've been designing. I'll need a few hours to install the necessary software on your iPhone, but now that I know what to expect from the prick, I've cooked up a few surprises. They can … also be used as anti-Mafia-asshole devices."

Mario gave a brief, albeit impressed nod, then reached for his car keys. "Aight, now that you're here, you're welcome to whatever you need. Fratellino and I are going out for a bit."

Frowning, Luigi turned to his brother in confusion. "We are?"

"Yeah. Staten Island. I ain't tellin' Giuseppe or Lucia about this over the phone. Plus, I'm sick of the Masciarelli bullshit. I wanna know who the fuck that woman is, 'cause I have a bad feeling that she's involved in whatever the fuck this is. C'mon!" enjoined Mario, twisting toward the door to the garage.

Miles held up a hand and called out, "Wait, guys, I'm coming with you. Just give me a minute to start the transfer."

Mario stopped and waited at the entrance for him as Luigi murmured, "Yo, fratello, do you think this is a good idea? How's Joe gonna react? Does Lucia even know?"

"I don't give a fuck, Weegie. I really don't at this point. Like you said – this shit's gotta end some time."

Grabbing his backpack, the blond hacker gestured that he was ready, and the three men walked out into the garage and climbed into the Honda. Mario backed out of the driveway and proceeded down 17th Avenue, eventually making a right turn on 75th Street toward the expressway and the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. The older plumber shrugged out of his red zip-up hoodie, revealing a gray tee-shirt, while Miles stared out of the rear passenger window and Luigi assigned two tickets to one of the first-year journeymen. About midway across the bridge and the heavy traffic, Mario grabbed his sunglasses to shield his eyes from the abnormal October sunshine. They eventually crossed into semi-suburban New York decorated with yellow, green, and red leafed trees, bicycle paths, crosswalks, and, to the south, the Atlantic Ocean. They followed Hylan Boulevard into Eltingville and parked in front of Giuseppe's and Lucia's small, middle-class home.

Turning off the engine, Mario purposefully unbuckled his seatbelt, exited the vehicle, and marched to the outer screen door, which was closed, though the inner door was left open to circulate air. With Luigi and Miles right behind him, the older plumber entered the house and called out for his zii. They soon found a weak Giuseppe laying on the couch in the living room, his eyes closed from fatigue and nausea. Partly covered with a thick blanket, he was dressed in a white tee-shirt, blue flannel bottoms, and striped compression socks. Moaning awake, though with his eyes still shut, he mumbled, "I'm here, nipoti."

"Hey, Zio," murmured Luigi as he approached his sickly elder. "How ya doin'?"

"Ah, y'know. Chemo's … a bunch of bullshit. It's getting a little easier, though." One of his blue eyes suddenly connected with his. "Why aren't youse at work?"

The two plumbers and hacker wordlessly debated on what and how much to tell Joe in his impaired condition. When he did not hear an answer, the older man forced both eyes open to observe Mario's irritation and the two other males' indecision. Joe used his wiry, though formidable upper body strength to prop himself to a semi-sitting position. "I'm waitin' for an answer from youse," he ordered, staring meaningfully at them.

"There's a problem," Mario finally spoke. "Luigi's not leavin' New York on Monday. He's leavin' tomorrow."

Within an instant, Giuseppe's blue eyes became stormy. "What the hell is this? What the fuck is that little shit up to now?!" He glared at his pseudo-son. "Figlio, you wanna explain this to me?!"

"Zio, it wasn't Lucas!" insisted Luigi. "Yeah, he's a fuckin' asshole, but this was Pete Morello's doing!" His uncle's icy blue eyes widened, and he remained quiet, waiting for further elucidation. "Apparently, Pete got wind of our trip to Germany. I don't know how, but he did. He's commandeered the plan to his liking. Lucas and I are supposed to leave for Colorado tomorrow, then leave for Frankfurt from Denver International on Monday evening."

Blinking a few times, the white-haired man muttered a few obscenities in both English and Italian under his breath. As he began to respond, Joe coughed roughly, prompting Mario to retreat into the kitchen to bring him a glass of Gatorade. Much to their surprise, the man accepted the liquid without complaint, gently sipping it to avoid choking. Wiping the blue mustache above his pale lips with the back of his hand, he eased himself back into his previous posture. "Motherfucker …" he rumbled. "If I were healthier, I'd fly to Denver and stick that fucker's head on a pike." He pushed his black-rimmed glasses up his long nose and added, "However, my guess is that Pete doesn't trust that little shit, either. He ain't gonna do anythin' to Luigi. If anything, he's probably doin' it to protect him – or he thinks he is. Now, Luigi really can't back outta this." Sighing in defeat, he gazed to an empty spot on the wall. "I don't know how we're gonna tell your zia or nonna."

"Have you told Lucia about any of this?" inquired Miles.

"Some of it. But she doesn't know about Germany. I don't … I don't think she'd handle it well. Especially if I were to tell her that Lucas is involved." Giuseppe shook his head slowly. "She still remembers his involvement in the … Brooklyn City fiasco."

"And what about Salvatore?" demanded Mario, crossing his arms.

Giuseppe's eyes narrowed at his eldest nephew's aggressive stance. "What about him?"

He rolled his eyes while Miles and Luigi attempted to intervene. "Okay, cut the shit. How come Salvatore's becoming so … involved now? And don't tell me that he's trying to make up for lost time! What the fuck did you do, Joe? Why the fuck did you contact him, a goddamned made fuckin' man?!" His demand was met with Joe's stony silence; as the blond and younger plumber nervously watched the scene unfold, Mario yanked a folded piece of paper from the back pocket of his blue jeans and tossed in his uncle's lap. "I got two questions for you, Zio, which you will answer. First, what the fuck were you doin' palling around Big Jackass of all people? Second, who the fuck's the woman?"

Angered by the younger man's disrespectful tone, Giuseppe roughly snatched up the paper, unfolded it, and, upon inspecting the image, audibly gasped. "What the … Where the fuck did you get this?" Lifting a hostile set of blue eyes to an equally angry Mario, he yelled, "Where did you get this?!"

"Your fuckin' jump drive!" the portly plumber snapped.

His eyes softening a little at the realization that he was the responsible party, Joe examined the long-forgotten photograph. Then he gazed apologetically at both Luigi and Miles. "I was never part of that world, figlio. At least not … actively. But back then, most of us knew guys who were. The Mafia was … inescapable unless you left Bensonhurst. And I … couldn't do that. Your father, your mother, your Zia Maria, and Sal were all that I had. Since Sal and Gabby were related to Jackass and Petey, I ran in the same circle. As for the woman, she was one of Jackie's Slavic flavors of the month. It wasn't exactly a secret that he stepped out on his wife, especially during and after givin' birth to Tony. I think her name was Irina or Nina? Somethin' like that. I think this was taken in '78, so it's been a long time."

Mario and Luigi looked at each other in confusion. "Wait, so she wasn't Salvatore's girlfriend?" inquired the latter man.

Giuseppe's eyes rounded in shock. "Where did you get that idea?"

"Salvatore said that he left the Mafia because he fell in love," responded Luigi. "I thought that … this was her."

The older plumber's already pale face blanched to the white color of the walls. "You know," he heard Mario conclude. "You know who she is. Was it this woman? Did Sal and Jackie trade blondes or something?"

"No!" he barked in an irate tone. "Now stop asking!" He shifted his eyes warningly at all three young men. "All of youse!"

"Nah, we're not lettin' this go, Zio!" retorted Mario. "Because there's a good fuckin' chance that whatever you and Sal tried to bury is resurrecting itself! And that leaves Weegie unprotected against it! Now, you've lied to him, me, and Miles. So enough with the Masciarelli bullshit! If you want these secrets to die, then why did you go get Sal?!"

Uncle Joe scanned the living room; Luigi and Miles stared at him resolutely and in wordless agreement with Mario. "Bambini, it's better that you don't know. If you trust me, then let me handle … your uncle Sal. I approached him for a reason – to keep Luigi – youse – safe, to keep Pete from … manipulating him. That's all I've ever cared about. And as for who he loves, that's his story to tell."

"Okay, I've had enough of everyone thinking I'm some fucking ingénu!" interrupted Luigi heatedly. "Zio, do you really think I'm … stupid enough to be taken in by someone I barely know, someone whom I know is a mafioso?!"

Recoiling from his adopted son's hostile words, Giuseppe fixed his watery blue eyes upon him. "Figlio mio, I've watched my family … leave me in one way or another. Your nonni, who were never really there; your father; your mother; your older brother; your uncle Sal! But I raised you!" Out of the corner of his right eye, he sighted the gray-shirted plumber's mouth open, presumably to speak, to which he snarled, "Shut the fuck up, Mario!" Once the unwilling man quieted, he returned to the still angry Luigi, his voice moderating to a near whisper. "Yeah, I raised you! When Jackie took you, I … I went out of my mind. I ain't lettin' that happen again. If I lost you? I'd … beg for them to shoot me! Put me outta my misery. 'Cause as shitty as chemo and radiation are, they'd be nothin' compared to that. You, Luigi, are my child – like Maria, Addy, Lucy! Capisci?" The younger man nodded. "Never doubt that, Luigi Gabriele Masciarelli."

Mario scoffed at his paternal uncle and shook his head. "Well, that's all fine and good, Joe," he grunted, immediately drawing the man's ire. "But that's an empty fuckin' comment if I ever heard one. Especially when we don't know what we're walking into, what Weegie's walking into! You can sit there with your self-indulgent bullshit about how you raised him, but you've also hindered him. And you continue to hinder him by holding back all that you know. Now, let's try this again." For a moment, he loomed over the hostile man on the couch before sitting on the coffee table in front of him. "Who's Sal's other half?"

Giuseppe turned away from him resolutely, tilting his chin to indicate that he would not communicate further.

"Aight," nodded the older plumber. "Have it your way. Tell Lucia and the rest of the family that neither Luigi nor I will attend any more birthday parties, Thanksgiving, Christmas, or Sunday dinners. We're done. If you leave him to find for himself, well, fine, then we have no family." He glanced at a shocked Miles and Luigi and murmured, "C'mon, Weegie, Dipshit. We can take of this ourselves."

The gray-shirted plumber moved toward the front door, followed by Miles, who cast Joe a disappointed look, leaving an indecisive Luigi. After a few seconds, the latter walked toward the other two, instigating a whimper from the older man. As the leader pushed open the screen door, Giuseppe croaked, "Fine! You fuckin' win, Mario!" All three youths faced him expectantly. "I can't … tell you who Sal's 'other half' is. I can't because it will get a lot of people killed. All three of youse, him, me, and heaven knows who else. You got to trust me!" Suddenly out of breath, he took a full minute to recuperate and drink more of the blue Gatorade. Then he went on in a softer tone, "And I honestly don't know what you're walkin' into, kid. If I did, I'd tell ya."

"That's what you meant by 'Pandora's Box,' wasn't it, Zio?" Luigi asked from behind Miles. Joe gave a single nod. "But why? How is loving someone a 'Pandora's Box?'" The blond engineer tapped a SOS on Luigi's arm, which was his signal to drop this particular line of inquiry.

Giuseppe directed a piercing gaze at him. "It shouldn't be, figlio mio. But we don't live in a perfect world." To their continued, hushed hesitation to accept his answer, the plumber said, "I'm not … trying to make this more difficult on youse. You're right that these family secrets have taken a toll. If it were up to me, I would tell youse everything. But it isn't."

"Okay, va bene," acquiesced Mario while tossing up his hands. "Just answer us this last question." At the man's grayish, raised eyebrow, he posited, "Is Salvatore safe? Can we actually trust him? Because I will not let him near Weegie if he's not!"

"Your Zio Sal always has a reason for whatever he does or doesn't do, as I've explained to your brother. He's made — youse already know that — but he is not a Mafia fuck like Pete or Jackass." Staring meaningfully at him, he vowed, "And I would never let a dangerous man near Luigi or you. I swear on your parents' souls."

The mustachioed plumber studied his paternal uncle, whose demeanor had shifted from harsh and authoritarian to frail and suppliant, then turned to Luigi and Miles who shrugged their acceptance. "Aight. I guess we got what we came for. It's about one-thirty. Weegie's flight on Dickhead Airlines leaves tomorrow at noon. We should probably go." He gestured at the other two to head for the door when Joe pushed the blanket off his body and, struggling to sit up, called out, "I'm comin' with youse to Bensonhurst."

"No, you fuckin' ain't!" his eldest nephew yelled, jabbing his index finger at the stubborn man. "I am not explaining to your wife why you're in Bensonhurst!" Taking a breath to calm his temper, he appended, "Zio, we got this. Miles's sending Weegie with some anti-asshole techie shit, and I'll give him a ride to LaGuardia in the morning. You gotta focus on getting better, aight?"

Joe slowly stood to his full six-foot height and started to look for his sneakers. "That wasn't a request, kid. And I'll gladly take the heat from Lucia Bianchi Masciarelli."

Luigi stammered, steepling his hands, "Zio, listen to Mario…" His plea was cut short by his pseudo-father's piercing glare. Glancing at his older brother, he raised his hands to indicate that he tried to make him see reason.

During the return trip to 17th Avenue, the three young men attempted to tune out the fiery wrath of the aforementioned Lucia Bianchi Masciarelli, as her husband alternated between eye-rolling, smirks, sarcasm, and a final comment that she was breathtakingly beautiful when she was pissed off. In response, she confirmed a quick birthday dinner for Mario and issued a final warning to her spouse that he better not call that fucking priest. Upon hanging up, Joe relaxed in the front passenger seat; Luigi and Miles communicated through hex-text in the back, with the latter requesting that he lend him his computer and passport for a few hours at some point during the afternoon.

Once he acquired the items from Luigi, Miles finished the last of the upgrades for his existent devices — laptop and iPhone — to avoid spying by Lucas and the Colorado Mafia as well as some new programs which he promised to unveil after the birthday party. At the same time, Mario and Luigi insisted that Joe nap in the former's bed until dinnertime to appease Lucia, who would undoubtedly extract her vengeance upon all of them if she arrived to find him exhausted or sick. To avoid fratellino crabbiness from too little food and to shop a list that his aunt had emailed him, Mario made a quick run to the neighborhood Italian grocery store. Luigi volunteered to stay home in case Giuseppe woke up early or needed assistance. The green-shirted plumber felt his eyes become heavy; ensuring that the downstairs bedroom was slightly ajar, he allowed himself to drift on the couch. What seemed like only seconds later, he was awakened by a firm knock at the door. Miles motioned for him to remain in the living room and rose from his workstation to look through the peephole. Luigi's eyes had started to droop again when he heard his friend's voice timidly whisper, "Lou?"

"Yeah, Miles?"

"We have a problem at the door. A big one."

He opened one blue eye. "Why, who is it?"

The blond engineer replied in a serious tone, "Well, in the words of your, uh, zia, 'that fucking priest.'"

Now fully awake, Luigi bolted up and scrubbed his face with his hands. "Fuck. I don't see how Joe called or texted him, seeing as Mario didn't give him any time, and his phone's here on the coffee table."

The same knock repeated itself more insistently.

"What do I do, Lou? Do we let him in?"

The plumber approached the door, stepping in front of a pensive Miles. "I'll do it. Finish your work." Nodding, he went back to his terminals as the sleepy man opened it to reveal an apologetic-looking Father Sal.

"Niputi, did I catch you at a bad time? Looks like you were sleeping?" he asked, narrowing his brown eyes in concern.

Smiling a little, the younger man responded contritely, "Actually, yeah, Zio. It's, uh, not a good time right now."

Eyebrow raised, the black and gray-clad priest gave a single nod. "Right. Is that why Joe's here?" The stunned Miles, who had crept to the door, and Luigi both froze at the man's statement. Father Sal took a step forward so that it became clear that he intended to enter the house. "I have … friends in the neighborhood, niputi. They saw you and Mario help Joe inside. He wouldn't be here unless something … happened. If it were his health, he'd either be at Park Slope or in Manhattan. Given that," he glanced at the anxious hacker, "Miles is here, and neither you nor Mario are at work, I'm guessing that something happened to you." Still unable to answer, Luigi backed away from the door, which allowed the priest to walk inside the living room. As he shut it, Sal briefly examined the exterior of the blond's terminals, then sat down at the end of the couch and regarded his youngest nephew. "I'm waiting, kid."

"Zio, listen, we have the situation under control …" started the plumber, yet he thought better of his half-truth when he saw the priest's chocolate brown eyes morph into a steely obsidian. "Okay, look, there's been a change to the original plan. I have to leave tomorrow instead of Monday evening." The man's black eyes did not waiver. "I'd love to say that it was Lucas who did this, but he didn't. It was Pete Morello. He wants us — Lucas and I — to fly with one of his, uh, goodfellas from Denver instead. So I have to fly to Colorado tomorrow at noon, and from there, the three of us go to Frankfurt on Monday night."

Salvatore continued to stare at his nephew, though the latter could tell that he was processing the recent development. "I see," he finally stated with a hint of anger. "And, of course, you told Joe."

"Yeah, we told Joe!" hissed Luigi irately. "Gee, Padre, would it have been better for him to find out at Sunday dinner that I had already left?! Because Mario wouldn't have been able to make up an excuse that he would accept!" Stomping over to the door, he unlocked it and growled, "I'm tired of your judgmental bullshit, Father Rigassi! In a world of bad choices, Mario and I picked the lesser one. Ciao!"

"I'm not leaving kid. This is … my house," he replied simply.

"Fine, then I'll leave." Darting out of the A-frame, Luigi strolled into a near run, tears falling from his face, an act that echoed from years ago when he, as a teenager, fled the quarrels of his father and paternal uncle. Just before he reached the crosswalk at 18th Avenue, he felt a pair of strong arms halt and pull him toward their black-clothed chest. He let out a frustrated scream and smacked the Sicilian's body.

"Niputi, I … Mi dispiace," murmured Salvatore. "I've never learned to let anyone in, save one person. I'm not angry at you!" Shaking his head emphatically, he shed tears and added, "Never at you. I'm angry at myself! Because this whole situation is my fault! And no amount of penitence makes up for the fact that I hate myself! And even if I were still in the life, I don't know where to begin to help you. What Cousin Pete does, what Miles is doing, it's so … completely out of my league and knowledge!" Touching his forehead up to Luigi's, he moaned, "Tell me, please! Tell me how to help you."

Sniffling, the green-shirted plumber mumbled, "Sal … I won't ask you about that one person. But if she loves you as you loved her, then would she want you to hate yourself?" Although the priest tensed at the mention of his lost love, he wordlessly reflected upon the younger man's words. "I know that if it had been Daisy, I'd never have wanted her to hate herself."

Salvatore nodded against Luigi's head, their same color hair intermingling and joining frames. "I'll try," he managed. He sighed, gently enfolding his nephew into his thin build. "The Mafia world … is a screwed-up one. Loyalties can change on a dime."

"Sal!" rasped a frail voice to their left. The priest turned to face a questioning Giuseppe.

"Tesoro, go back inside!" he commanded.

The tall man shook his head, ambling slowly toward the embracing pair. "No. Stop … shutting me out. I know you don't want to lose me, Sal, but as you well know, we don't get a choice in what God decides to do. Stop … fuckin' around. This concerns my son and therefore, me. Not just your nephew."

Luigi watched as Father Sal gave him an unreadable look; to his shock, the latter abruptly released his face and balled up his fists at his sides, an action reminiscent of his older brother when angered. "Joe, for once, stop being a stubborn asshole and go home! Let me handle this!"

Coming to a halt a mere foot from them, he smugly crossed his arms. "Mai."

Reaching into his pocket for the rosary, the priest agitatedly traced a small circle on the sidewalk with his feet, twisting on his ankle and moving back and forth while the older plumber refused to yield, which the younger observed with a mixture of confusion and mirth. After a moment, Salvatore halted in his path, spun toward Giuseppe, and, mouth open, gestured with his index finger. Freezing mid-sound, he growled incomprehensible syllables, and paced some more.

Predictably, Giuseppe refused to budge.

Yanking a half-used package of Marlboros out of the other pocket of his dark gray sweater, the priest plucked one of the remaining cigarettes and shoved it into his mouth. Fumbling for his plastic, standard-issue bodega lighter, he scowled at his peer, "You drive me crazy, you know that?! Huh? Friggin' Abruzzese jackass!"

"As I said, if it concerns Luigi, then it also concerns me. What the fuck's Pete up to, and why does he want him to fly from Denver?"

Salvatore shrugged; he lit the cigarette, reveling in the nicotine, and started the trek back to 17th Avenue. Eager for his reply, Joe and Luigi followed him, eventually flanking him on each side. "Pete wouldn't hurt Luigi. Not unless he were ordered to, and I can't fathom what our niputi could have done to piss off Zio Carlo. Plus, Pete would've warned him if he had crossed a boundary. My guess," he took another drag, which caused Luigi's fingers to tremble, "is that he's doing it to protect him. Problem is that Lucas is certainly not acting alone. Despite what he thinks, he's not the brightest crayon in the Crayola box. However, the person or persons calling the shots know how the game is played. That's what worries me." Bringing the Marlboro to his lips once more, the former mafioso commented, "And that's probably what has Pete worried. At least, in part; he'd be expecting Lucas to be someone else's puppet."

"His father, Georgie?" inquired Luigi.

He shook his head. "No. George was a little after my time. But given that he's Greek and not Italian, he could only ever be an associate. No, this requires … intimate knowledge."

Joe stopped in his tracks, forcing the other two to slow down and face him. "So it's a made man."

"Yeah," responded Sal quietly while continuing to smoke.

"Someone like Jackass?"

"No, niputi," he denied to the younger plumber. "He'd never harm you, especially as you've stayed out of his way, and he'd never go against the Padrino, who's currently keeping him rich." He stared at both Joe and his pseudo-son meaningfully. "Nah, this … this is someone else. Someone with enough power to risk going against Uncle Carlo and Cousin Pete."

"Someone who'd want me out of the way. Someone who … tried to have me killed in '95," concluded the green-vested man. "If he knows Lucas, then he's from Carlo's crew. Or was, at some point."

Salvatore and Giuseppe exchanged a look of sheer horror. "Cazzo di merda …" breathed the latter, rubbing his mouth with a bony hand. "Aight, figlio mio, you do not breathe a word of this to Mario or your zia! Capisci? Normally, I'd agree with you about secrets, but the truth would frighten both beyond what they're capable of handling at the moment."

"Like you're equipped to handle it any more than we collectively are, Joe," the priest sarcastically deadpanned while flicking ashes to the sidewalk. The plumber glared at him in a wordless, yet pointed rejoinder.

Luigi rolled his eyes at the bickering older Italians. "Basta! Right now, we have a bigger problem. Lucia's coming over for Mario's birthday dinner this evening."

Giuseppe's blue eyes widened, and he side-glanced at the smoking Father Sal, who returned his gaze, first with a quizzical expression, then an annoyed one. "Oh, I see," the latter groused.

The younger Masciarelli's eyes shifted between his visibly uncomfortable paternal uncle and his fuming maternal counterpart. "Okay, Sal, I know that meeting you made her uncomfortable. I guess, back in '82? Did you … do something to her?"

He sighed. Dropping his cigarette butt and putting it out with his shoe, he replied, "I wasn't … very kind to her, no. I, uh, should go. I don't want to cause a problem, and I'm sure that Mario probably doesn't want me there, either."

As he turned to walk back to St. Rosalia's, a bewildered Luigi looked to the distraught Giuseppe who called out, "Sal, don't … go. Luigi and Mario need us — they need you. Now! Even Lu knows that! Luigi leaves for God knows what tomorrow! I know…" he paused to cough, beckoning Luigi to his side and Father Sal to stop instantly. Nodding at his pseudo-son to leave him be, he went on, "I know I'm asking a lot. But I got no alternative, Sal. I don't want to put you through your past. I don't want you to deal with … this!" He gulped and, catching Luigi's horrified stare, added, "This'll be the only and last thing that I ever ask of you."

An anguished Salvatore whirled in Giuseppe's direction, his breathing so loud and harsh that Luigi feared the man was hyperventilating. "Zio," the latter began in a near murmur, "you don't need to help me. I'll … manage. Truly."

The priest did not respond; he continued looking incredulously at Joe, heaving with each breath. "You … You think that's what I want? Oh, well, just help our niputellinu and then f …!" He bit his lip to censor the obscenity, his front teeth creating a bloody pit on the bottom. "Mi fai impazzire, Giuseppe Lodovico Masciarelli!" he shouted.

"Lo so, Sal," the thin man responded in Italian. "Ma nostro nipote ha bisogno di ti. E anch'io."

While Luigi observed the scene unfold with both bewilderment and curiosity, Father Sal unclenched his fists, one finger at a time, and, still breathing harshly, allowed a single tear to cascade down his right, eggshell-colored cheek. Taking three of the four steps needed to close the distance between them, the mafioso's previous hostility abated to a deep affection and warmth that the younger plumber could not precisely describe. Suddenly aware of their surroundings, Sal scanned them panoramically; once he was certain that no one of consequence witnessed what had transpired, he spoke to his nephew, though he kept his eyes upon Giuseppe, "I can't change the past. If I could do it differently … I would. There are so many things I'd have done differently. And I have to live with the 'What-ifs.' But I will not let history repeat itself. I won't let you … suffer my fate, niputellinu. I want you to be healthy, happy, and … be able to be with your dolce metà." Wiping his eyes with the back of his fingers, the priest turned his full attention to the youngest man. "Andiamo. I'm sure Lucia will arrive soon and," he checked his plastic drugstore wristwatch, "Mario will no doubt be hungry for his Fettuccini Alfredo." Despite his snuffles, he laughed, "Bambino's got a mother and uncle born in Italy, will very likely marry a Venetian woman, yet wants Mac and Cheese for his birthday."

Joe shook his head in embarrassment as Luigi gently escorted him home, with Salvatore following behind them, a second, soon to be lit cigarette between his fingers.


By five o'clock, the group from Manhattan as well as Lucia and Cousin Maria had gathered at the Bensonhurst A-frame. Upon learning of the last-minute change of plans by Pete Morello and his crew, Peach and Rospo refused to leave the forlorn Mario. Daisy, who channeled her inner angry cat, gave her lion the dreaded back, causing him to fret and offer an overabundance of attention and chocolate to be in her good graces again, much to the amusement of Giuseppe and Lucia, eye-rolling of Mario, and approval of Cousin Maria. Miles ignored his friend's antics in favor of quality control and user acceptance testing, or what Yoshi called the Unusual Asshole Tolerance, of his upgraded tech. From a chair in the corner, Father Sal unobtrusively watched the scene unfold, eager to avoid further angering Giuseppe's wife. Although she showed restraint by addressing him in a civil, almost pleasant manner, she nonetheless made her disapproval of his presence known to her husband and nephews. Sensing her mother's discomfort, Maria kept the man cornered, glaring at him whenever he moved toward her parents; like her paternal uncle, grandfather, and eldest cousin, she generally viewed religion with suspicion and aversion. The priest was awkward around her; aside from being of the opposite sex, her semi-bulky frame, curly brown hair that was tied up in a loose bun, piercing chestnut eyes, and fiery attitude resembled a fusion of his late brother-in-law's physique and Lucia's personality. During his wiseguy days, besides his Uncle Carlo who was, at the time, the new boss of the crew, the only man brave enough to stand up to him was his sister's husband.

Due to his impaired state, it took Joe much longer to realize what his eldest daughter was doing, and he straightaway stepped between the two, shooting steely-blue daggers at Maria not to continue. She did not move, much to her father's irritation. Abruptly deciding to check her short, yet well-maintained fingernails, she started to surf the Internet with her smartphone, all the while keeping one eye on the former mafioso. Add Joe's obstinance, thought Father Sal with an inward snicker.

Having excused himself from Peach's small, kitchen-based entourage of Rospo, Peach, and Lucia, Mario came to the standoff between Maria, Uncle Joe, and Father Sal, his blue eyes shifting between the discomfited priest, the grumbling plumber, and the woman who had obviously trapped her latest prey – or so she thought. Unwilling to voice how unwise his cousin's actions were and ruin dinner, he stepped between her and Giuseppe, raising his eyebrow at the now petulant female lion. Stretching her medium-sized limbs, she leisurely excused herself and sauntered to the kitchen, though making not without casting one last glare at Salvatore who had, until that moment, presented himself as indolent. In response to her aggressive posturing, he allowed his eyes to change from a warm chocolate to a glassy black. Alarmed at the nonverbal exchange, both Mario and Joe took turns distracting the mafioso from his target, and the man's eyes gradually reverted to a more neutral color, although they retained an edginess that promised retaliation if provoked further.

At around sunset, the group sat down at various positions in the living room for Fettuccini Alfredo, as the dining room table could only accommodate half of them. Rospo and Luigi took turns making jokey comments about Mario's fetish for fettuccine al burro, to which the birthday boy smugly retorted that good food is fuckin' good food – regardless of its origin or name. Giuseppe merely offered an audible prayer that his nephew would abstain from the ketchup bottle, triggering a prolonged giggle-ribbing session of the plumber over the foods to which they had each seen him add the feared condiment: French fries, various meat and pork products, shawarma, olives, tuna fish, risotto – which Mario insisted had been particularly bad risotto in Bethesda – Mac and Cheese, and, most outrageously, gelato – a claim which he emphatically denied and demanded his trolling cousin to retract. Maria simply answered that it was only a matter of time, and just because they hadn't actually caught him didn't mean that he hadn't considered it. Luigi snickered into his girlfriend's shoulder while his older brother shook his head sternly and deliberately at her. For the dessert course, Lucia divided up a thick New York-style cheesecake with a strawberry drizzle. Normally, Mario's birthday cake consisted of a multi-layered tiramisu; in light of Luigi's early departure, Lucia found herself within the minimum forty-eight-hour advance notice for specialty orders and was left with menu flavors of carrot– which Mario detested – vanilla, chocolate, or cheesecake. Although the plumber felt a sliver of disappointment, he much preferred cheesecake and the ability to celebrate his birthday with his fratellino than wait for a tiramisu cake and an extra slice of misery. Lifting their glasses of Moscato for the obligatory toast, Mario murmured, "Here's to thirty-six big ones. All I want for my birthday is for Weegie to come back safely from Germany."

After everyone had helped Lucia clean the kitchen and load the dishes into the new dishwasher, they gathered once more in the living room for Miles's demonstration. Yoshi, Luigi, Rospo, Maria, and Daisy readily agreed to sit on the floor to allow Joe to stretch out on the couch, with his striped socks-covered feet in Lucia's lap. Mario and Peach managed to share the Lazy-Boy due to the latter having lost five pounds from her rounds, much to the former's dismay. As for Father Sal, he sat in the remaining chair next to Giuseppe; Maria made sure to sit at her mother's feet and next to Daisy, every so often casting a warning glare at the priest who reacted by raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, I'm not … proficient at public speaking, hence why I'm in computer engineering and not, say, sales, so I'll just describe what each piece does," the blond mumbled. Picking up Luigi's cellphone, he began, "This is Lou's regular iPhone. I didn't change it completely, as a lot of the hardware and software is proprietary, and I could get in big, big trouble for making significant alterations. Lou, too, as it's his phone. Be that as it may, I downloaded, uh, spyware onto it. Uh, good, spyware. It's my app, so …" He coughed at the multiple blank looks. "Ahem, anyway. What the hidden app does is track Luigi's position – globally. So, we'll know exactly where he is at all times. It's a little Big Brother for my taste, but it's probably better in the long run, given that he'll be around Lucas and whomever from Colorado. That way, if he does get into trouble, the police will know where to go – all within a hundred or so feet or thirty-ish meters of his phone."

Mario nodded a little. "Aight. But what if he doesn't have his phone?"

"Good point," conceded Miles. "This brings me to the next piece – it looks like a watch, but this will also track him in the same way. It's a little less accurate due to it being more low-tech, but I was able to track the wearer's position within fifty meters or a hundred fifty feet. I could've Macgyvered it to a hundred feet if I had had more time. In both cases, there's a, uh, panic button that goes right to emergency services anywhere in North America. I'm still working on Europe. I might be able to get his phone to connect to 110 or 112. The watch is, as I mentioned, lower tech. If I had had more time …"

"It's fine, kid," rasped Joe from the couch. "You did good. That'll give us something."

He nodded reluctantly. "The next thing I downloaded to his phone was a translator – well, a programmed library of common words and phrases – from English to German. I know many Germans speak English fairly well, especially in big cities like Frankfurt or Berlin, but I'd rather Luigi come prepared. It's not perfect; it can't, for instance, translate extremely idiomatic words or phrases. However, discrete and direct phrases like 'I need help' or 'Lucas is a piece of shit,' it can do. It can also translate from German to English; same rules apply."

Yoshi clapped loudly at the latest invention, bragging that he texted his German colleagues at the lab for appropriate swearwords, which he diligently programmed into the translation app.

"On his computer, I put the same tracking software as well as a secure VPN that he can use to send any sensitive messages back home. It can handle video streaming; however, I'd limit its use for emergencies only. As an aside, Lou, I would also use it to hide that smart thermometer that you're working on. For that purpose, I have an encrypted USB key for you; I use something similar for my own research." Mario and Joe looked at each other in confusion as Luigi's eyes widened in shock. "Um, I'm a hacker and a fairly decent one. Unfortunately, it wasn't that hard to find, which means Lucas the Asshole can, too, and would probably steal the design. Cracking that USB, well, let's just say that'll take him years. And with the VPN, he won't have a snowball's chance in hell of even knowing about it. Not only that, but he seems pretty lazy; I doubt he has the stamina to last a few hours, let alone days or weeks of frustration."

"Weegie, what fuckin' project? Is that Arduino shit that I saw on your desk?" demanded Mario, ignoring his brother's friend's solution to the original problem.

He glowered at his older brother. "Yeah, it's that Arduino shit on my desk. Now drop it. It's not ready, and it's just an idea."

"Actually, if I understood the blueprints well, it could be the answer to financial independence from the Mafia," interjected Miles. "It's also fairly simple to implement. I mean, it lacks data and UAT; however, with the right financial backing and time, it would be a game-changer."

"Well, hypothetically speaking, it would need to be a large amount of money for the family to stop shaking them down like a little niente," said Father Sal. "They consider associates respectable if it's, well, in the seven-figure range."

The blond engineer shrugged. "Yeah, I'm guessing it'll be that. Easily. And if Luigi can design other … like devices, he'll effectively build his own start-up. All he'd need to do is expand into other cities on the East Coast. California, perhaps. I could also see potential buyers in Canada or Scandinavia."

Luigi's face flushed red as he felt ten stunned pairs of eyes upon him, and he put his hands over it to hide as best as he could. Leaning over to him, Daisy gently removed them, forcing the cowardly lion to look at her. "Sweetie, you can stop hiding." She pressed her nose to his, the latter releasing a soft purr of contentment and agreement. His blue eyes connected with hers, willing her to understand: How do I do this without you? I'm not strong like you; not at all. She blinked her amber orbs once in a firm insistence that he was smarter than Lucas and always had been.

"Anyway, that's it. I'd also recommend that you make copies of your passport and driver's license and store them on the USB. If, for whatever reason, you lose it, you can use those copies at the U.S. Consulate in Frankfurt or Berlin. They'd issue you emergency travel papers to get you home."

"I have a contact at the American Embassy in Berlin," added Peach. "He'd have no problem helping Luigi return to New York, especially with verifiable copies of his passport."

"And I got buddies in Stuttgart who could help or break that little shit's nose, whichever comes first," spoke Mario with an evil grin.

Tucking his lioness's head underneath his chin, the green-shirted plumber marveled at the speed and dedication with which these ten people had gathered to support him. Suddenly, he felt a pang of guilt and shame at his previous belief that no one noticed or cared about his life or existence. Yet another lie from Lucas, he thought angrily. Then he felt even guiltier; because he had engaged Lucas and played his games, Mario's birthday was interrupted, Daisy was here instead of writing her thesis, his friends were spending their Friday evening testing tech to protect him, Giuseppe, Lucia, and Maria were in Bensonhurst instead of resting in Staten Island, and Father Sal was reliving his painful past.

"Excuse me," he mumbled, gasping for air and running for the back door to the patio. Reaching the damp air of the Brooklyn night, he allowed the weeps to escape his throat and hot tears of dishonor to burn his cheeks. Mi dispiace! he moaned in his head. The squeaks cascaded into sobbing, and he sank to the border between the concrete and brownish lawn. A few moments later, he felt arms wrap around him from behind; as they were larger than Daisy's, he gazed down at the black fabric.

"Don't you know by now that I'll always find you?" asked Salvatore. Luigi sniffled, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "I remember one night in, I think it must've been, November '72? Your nonno was incoherent, ranting about this and that. Your, uh, Nonna Mia couldn't get him to calm down. Like Mario always did, he took his brother and sister and ran. To us. My mother put little Maria with Gabby, who," he said with a nostalgic smile, "had always wanted a little sister. Mario, Joe, and I used to share a room. Your father went to bed angry and Joe … He thought that he was being tough by holding in his tears until after his brother had gone to sleep. I always saw." Pressing his forehead against Luigi's, he murmured, "Just like a little micio that used to hide in the pews."

"I'm sorry," he rasped. "If it weren't for my … selfishness and stupidity, none of youse would be here. Lucas wouldn't have …"

Father Sal interrupted with a stern "Basta!" He shook his head. "No, niputi. This … would've always happened. I set it into motion by joining the famiglia thirty-five years ago. The truth is we all had a bit to do with this – me, your father, Gabby, and even Joe. The only way it wouldn't have happened is if … Gabby never married your father. It's easy to say that it would've been better had you not … existed. Too easy. Because with your existence comes hope!" Luigi blinked at the fresh tears in the priest's brown eyes. "The Mafia, niputi, exists precisely because there is no hope, whether it's the result of governmental inaction, starvation, or ethnic discrimination. No hope, no faith, no love. And do you know where the absence of hope first begins?" The younger man stared at him, waiting for his answer. "By believing that one is … undeserving. Having faith in oneself is the highest act of self-love and, by proxy, the love of God."

"Well," scoffed Luigi through his tears, "I am definitely going to hell then. I don't know if I can do this." He added in a soft murmur, "Sometimes, I wish I could go back and be the quiet kid that no one notices."

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's far too late. You did it by going with Lucas. While you see that choice as being detrimental, you also set into motion the following: first, you forced the union to expedite the process of removing old, tired blood for a new hope; second, you humiliated a bully whose reckoning was long overdue; third, so I've gathered, you've built a gadget that could save a New York institution that gangster and politician alike would love to exploit or dismantle." Rubbing his nephew's back, he slid closer so that he could whisper in his ear, "Nothing worthwhile ever happened without a certain amount of pain. Whether we see, experience, or even create it. We remember that sacrifice and we promise to honor it, to do better. Accept that you are deserving of the love and support of Joe, Mario, Daisy, Peach, Miles, Yoshi, Lucia, Maria, and Rospo. You are deserving of my love and support. Per sempre."

As the plumber burst into tears once more, and the priest held him quietly, Daisy and Mario walked onto the patio from the house. The latter each gave Father Sal a challenging glare, to which he simply answered, "He's okay."

Daisy rushed to the opposite side of her distressed boyfriend and laid her head on his shoulder, causing him to face and, wiping his eyes, return her affection. Mario took a few steps toward them, stopping just shy of Luigi's sitting form. "Weegie, it's aight to be scared. And I'll admit it to youse – even the fuckin' Sfacciata – that I'm scared, too. Whenever you leave Brooklyn, shit, Bensonhurst at times, I get scared. That ain't gonna change. It's how we deal with that fear that makes us." Closing the remaining inches to his brother's back, he crouched behind him and put a hand on his right shoulder. "You got the brains and the heart to take this fucker down." Still keeping his head against Daisy's, he nodded once, acknowledging Mario's words. They remained outside for another hour when Lucia sent Maria to bring in her nephews from the chill of October. Despite Giuseppe's pleas to remain at the house, Lucia and his daughter insisted that they return to Staten Island, as the small abode could not possibly accommodate eleven people. Before departing with his family, the reluctant Masciarelli patriarch pulled his pseudo-son into a fatigued bear hug and demanded that he call, even leave a voicemail, upon landing at Denver International Airport. Similarly, Lucia and Maria hugged Luigi and bid him a safe and quick journey to and from Germany. After Lucia's SUV drove off, the next person to leave was Father Sal who promised to return in the morning.


Hours following his escape to the backyard, Luigi spooned Daisy's bare body in the upstairs bed. The room was dark, save for a small desk lamp on his night table which illumined the woman's neck and freckled trapezius. She gasped in desire as he placed open-mouthed kisses at their sensitive and soft skin, his mustache occasionally tickling the barely visible hairs. Twisting in his embrace, the sleepy woman pecked him on the lips and gazed into his ocean blue eyes. "Kerido, I'm sorry about earlier. I … I hate that evil little toothpick. And I can't say that I'm the biggest fans of your extended family." She huffed and lightly dragged her fingers across her suspiciously damp cheeks. "But it's not your fault."

"Evil little toothpick?" chortled Luigi. "I'll have to remember that one. It's, uh, fitting." He kissed her deeply. "And apology accepted. I don't want to go … and leave you, either. And I know that … like Mario, you'd like to smack him around, maybe dump his toothpicky body in Gowanus." He beamed as he felt the vibration of her laughter against his lips. "Partners in crime, amore mio; I'd help you hide his corpse."

The lioness harumphed against the juncture between his neck and jaw.

"Cat-face," he spoke softly, "I … Would you do me a favor?" She raised an eyebrow and hummed in response. "Would you … stay with Mario and Peach until I return? For my piece of mind? I trust you. I just … don't trust the situation. Humor me?"

Rolling her eyes, she laid her head against his chest. "Yes, I can … humor you." Then reconsidering her irritation, she lifted her head to flash a cheeky grin and purred, "It's a money-maker for me. Your idiot brother will bet on the Royals. Heh. Like taking candy from a baby."

He grinned and shook his head. "Hey, be nice to my bro. As you said, he's an idiot." Kissing the top of her head, he tucked a few strands of auburn hair behind her exposed ear. "I hate that I have to miss the Series. We could've made it into a little contest."

Humming a second time, she mumbled, "Taking candy from due bambini."

"Well, see, if I bet on the Royals and lose, then … maybe you could … extract payment using … other means."

Her brown eyes twinkled with excitement and arousal; pressing him flat against the bunched pillows, she moved to straddle him suggestively as he moved to touch her below the comforter. "Fucking Lucas," she breathed. "That … fucking … fuckboy."

"I love it when you talk dirty," he growled, reaching up to capture her lips with his. "But try to avoid mentioning his name in bed."

"Sorry, he shall be henceforth known as Prickie von Dickless, Evil Toothpick of Manhattan."

Luigi raised an eyebrow and stifled a snicker. "Henceforth? Mmm, whatever thou sayest, Signora."

"Shut up and proceed with the pleasuring, plumber," she hissed impatiently.

Saturday morning was both gray and subdued. Mario, Peach, and Yoshi had gone for a ten-kilometer run in Prospect Park to ease the former's nerves, leaving Luigi, Daisy, and Miles to sleep until a little past eight-thirty. Just before nine, Rospo came by the A-frame with an assortment of French pastries – croissants, pains au chocolat, pains aux raisins – and coffee from one of his lady's favorite cafés in the Upper East Side. The first group arrived as the second, who had already showered and dressed, was sitting down to breakfast. Mario and Peach used the downstairs bathroom while Yoshi ran upstairs to make use of Luigi's en-suite. Fifteen minutes later, Peach and Yoshi took seats at the remaining spots between Luigi, Daisy, Miles, and Rospo; refusing to start a miserable fucking day without the comfort of fat and salt, the older plumber fried the leftover bacon strips and set them at the center of the table. Reaching into the refrigerator a second time and ignoring the anticipatory rebuke from his significant other, he pulled out a carrot and, with a smirk, handed it to Daisy. As Luigi shook his head at his brother's antics, the lioness held the stick sideways and, nibbling on its point, extended her middle finger of the same hand. Before Mario could retaliate, a black-clad figure came into the kitchen. Accepting Peach's offer of a croissant and coffee, Father Sal stood in the foreground near Luigi and Daisy and ate the small breakfast. In spite of the rather large group, they finished their meal quietly, save the occasional whisper about the time.

At a quarter until eleven, Mario loaded Luigi's roller suitcase in the Honda and signaled that they needed to leave for LaGuardia. Yoshi, Miles, Peach, and Rospo, who could not accompany him to the airport, each bid their friend goodbye with a hug. Mario, Luigi, Daisy, and Father Sal, who insisted on coming to the airport and would take the subway back to Bensonhurst from Manhattan, all entered the black Honda and made their way to Queens. Exceptionally, the drive along the BQE, which would have normally triggered Mario to rant colorfully about the stupid Queens fucks and even dumber fuckin' Jersey jerkoffs, was silent except for the calm drone of NPR in the background. In the backseat, Luigi and Daisy held hands, the latter occasionally resting her head against his chin; the priest riding next to Mario gazed straight-ahead, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

Mario let out a sound resembling both a sigh and a growl as he pulled into the passenger drop-off zone. Throwing it into park and popping the trunk, he and his three passengers exited the vehicle. While the driver walked to the rear to retrieve his brother's suitcase, a BMW approached slowly and stopped roughly ten feet from him. The agitated plumber, suitcase in hand, rotated toward the car, preparing a rather spicy riposte, when his eyes widened at the occupants. Though the driver – an obvious wiseguy in a tracksuit – stayed inside, the passengers – a gray and yellow-suited Fat Tony Morano, a visibly irritated Lucas, and a Yankees cap-wearing John Bowser – got out of the expensive town car. Fat Tony gave Bowser a single gesture toward the truck, to which he nodded and collected Lucas's larger suitcase and backpack.

"What the fuck is this?" demanded Mario. "I realize Lucas's a little shit, but what's with the three-ring clown show?"

Having concluded a short, though rather satisfying nose-pick, Tony crossed his thick arms at his second cousin's insult. "You're lucky we're related. As for me, I'm just giving my … associate a lift to the airport." He looked past Mario's shoulder to give a brief glance of acknowledgement at Luigi and to let his eyes appreciatively examine the unimpressed Daisy's form. The black priest's blazer caused him to do a double take, and he was soon confronted by the piercing gaze of his father's first cousin and Nonno Carlo's former favorite. Il Mietitore himself.

"Oh, looky, Mario brought the family priest. Isn't that sweet?" observed Lucas with a snicker. Fat Tony's beady eyes shifted hostilely to the tall man, warning him not to interrupt again. Bowser, who was standing behind them, watched the inaudible communication between the Trust-fund Baby and two wiseguys.

"Lucas, g'head inside. Luigi will follow you in a minute," Fat Tony finally said while maintaining eye contact with his elder wiseguy.

Stunned at the request to excuse himself, the Manhattanite dropped the handle of his luggage in offense. "Why do I have to go? Why me and not Dumber the Plumber or …" he directed his gaze at the woman and uttered in a mocking tone, "Daisy?"

"Because they're family, fuckhead. Now … I ain't gonna say it twice." Flicking his thumb toward the entrance to the private security, he barked, "Fangul!"

Biting his lip in annoyance, the affronted Lucas tossed his head and skulked to the waiting plane. Once he was inside, Tony calmly tilted his head to Bowser, indicating that he too should leave. The redhead's brown eyes moved uncertainly; Mario blinked at his frenemy to give them the requested space. Eventually, he retreated to the backseat of the black town car, leaving Tony, Father Sal, Luigi, Mario, and Daisy. The fat man spoke once more, "It came as a surprise that youse were going to Germany. Nice cars; good beer and wine; decent sausages. But that's not why you're going."

"No," answered Luigi carefully. "It's for a business proposition."

He nodded. "And this … business proposition, is this your idea or that skinny fuck's?"

"What do you think?" Mario cut in, rolling his eyes at the very question. "Do you think Weegie here would be anywhere but Uncle Joe's? We were supposed to celebrate my birthday tomorrow!" Before the plumber could escalate the situation, his uncle put a comforting, yet firm hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah, that's right, ain't it? Well, a late buon compleanno. Why don't you come on down to Bowser's – order whatever on me." Eyeing Salvatore whose expression was judiciously neutral, Tony shrugged a little. "Aight. Have a good trip to Germany. Don't have too much fun in the biergartens." As Mario, Daisy, and the priest turned toward Luigi, the obese mafioso added, "Oh, one more thing. Whatever happens in Frankfurt, don't even think of fuckin' me over, Lou. We are still related. That smug Manhattan cocksucker might be Daddy's little fuckin' popsicle, but that don't mean shit here. Capisci?"

The older plumber lunged at his second cousin while Father Sal put his body between them. "You motherfucker!" he bellowed, trying to pry his uncle's grip from his body. "Youse got 'im in this mess!"

"Basta!" yelled the priest. "Antonio, just … go with God." Glowering one final time at both men, he waddled back to the black BMW, climbed inside, and, as a flushed Mario and stoic Salvatore watched, sped off to the exit and Brooklyn. Panting with anger and anxiety, the burly Italian wrapped his arms around his taller brother and whispered, "It's not too late, fratellino. We can get outta here. I can take you and the Sfacciata back to Park Slope or even Staten Island – see Uncle Joe and Aunt Lucia."

"Fratello, I can't," replied Luigi in an equally soft tone.

"He's right, niputi," said Salvatore, who was searching his pockets for the ever-present cigarette pack. The three younger men and woman brokenheartedly faced him. "Tony's a little stronzo, but whatever his angle is, he expects Luigi to play the game. As will Cousin Pete. As will … Lucas." Frowning at the last cigarette of the package, he nonetheless lit the end and blew out a puff of carcinogens.

Embracing and kissing his brother one last time, Mario pushed past his maternal uncle to the driver's seat of the Honda, hissing, "Nonno Masciarelli may have been pazzo, but he was right about one thing: you Rigassi fuckers deserve to burn in hell!" He slid into the vehicle and slammed the door, the passive priest's nicotine-stained fingers tremoring as a result.

Luigi kissed Daisy goodbye – her lips, then the back of her hand – murmuring that he would call her from Denver and Frankfurt to let her know that he had landed safely in each city. She stole another quick peck before dragging herself to the rear passenger door, which Mario had opened for her. With a heavy sigh, he gathered his luggage and ambled to the sliding entrance doors when he felt a firm, thin hand on his clavicle. "Niputi, I … I'm sorry," rasped the black-clad man. "Ti voglio bene. One reason why I became a priest is … I thought they'd leave us alone. You, me, Mario, Giuseppe. I thought wrong."

"Yeah," he responded tersely, still one step from the threshold.

"Just remember who you are, Luigi Gabriele Isidoro Masciarelli. Real power comes from love, hope, and endurance."

With a final intake of air, the plumber focused straight ahead, took the handle of his roller suitcase, and strode to the security checkpoint.